O felia
There is a willow grows askant the brook
likely melting
weeping
brooding
in the depths of my pockets
depths of my eyes
under the mangled ball of cash
and above the tangled ipod earbuds
the lint and dust
the quintessence of dust
i reminisce on those earbuds
on days gone by
reminds me of yesterday
of years ago
of decades
of you
hoping you ignore me
see me
approach me
confront what we had been
what we will be
what we will never be
your soft and gentle hand laced between my fingers
that was a truth
my truth
my fate
i might have asked for a kiss
yearned for a kiss
i spoke too eagerly
too passionately
too truthfully
go back to the willow tree
to my recollection
to the glassy water and count the daises,
the rosemary
the pansies
the fennel
the columbines
find the petals of the rue
I WOULD HA’ GIVEN YOU
SOME VIOLETS BUT THEY
ALL WITHERED WHEN MY
FATHER DIED
the last thing you whispered in my ear
and poof
gone
vanished
obsolete
morphs to a cockle hat
a memory
a dream
yes the heart is fine
is beating
is dead
ok to move on forward
to never look back
to grave jump
guess the reason was noble
the faculties infinite
the action admirable
the apprehension angelic
HOW LIKE A GOD
beauty of the world
paragon of animals
AND YET TO ME
what is this piece of heart which you own now
and tow away as if a key
an antique
slash and splintered thence
the soldier
scholar
courtier
my heart was never mine but always yours
my mind was never mine but always yours
my body was never mine but always yours
i name you old fling
old love
dormant love
love never blossomed
love i lost
heart i lost
usurper.
Omit the Obituary
…passed away at the age of 18. Beloved son…Dear Step-son…Loving Brother…Cherished Grandson and Nephew…Immense talent…Extraordinary charisma…Survived by his father. Survived by his Step-mother. Survived by his Aunts and siblings. Survived by his high school friend group who can’t look in one another’s eyes the way they use to. Who can’t hold each other’s faces without seeing his. Who can’t play bowling, or watch a musical, or eat Buffalo Wild Wings without tears swelling into a chokehold. Survived by the boys who wanted to be him. Survived by the girls he would fawn over. Survived by the love and rejection every teenage boy has felt before. Survived by me, who never wanted a chance at life to begin with, who was willing to waste it anyway. Survived by a thousand years of torment and the beginning of the end. Survived by Death itself. Survived by childhood memories. Survived by nostalgia. Survived by the respect of the dead. Survived by all the things I wish to tell you. Survived by never getting in my goodbye because how can you die at 18? Survived by the shortest obituary ever written. Survived by a travesty to his memory. Survived by despite his length of life he was so full of it. Survived by laughing with him and sometimes at him. Heavily survived by guilt. Sometimes survived by survivors guilt. Survived by hoping I never feel such pain again. Survived by the hindsight of knowing I’ll feel that pain again and again and again and. What this obituary won’t tell you is how sometimes I loathed him one day and then loved him the next. How I felt the warmth of his brotherhood in the morning and the fangs of his betrayal at night. But we were kids, right? He was a kid. Visiting Sunday (today) and Monday, 2-4:30pm and 7-9:30pm. Cremation Private.
i am in the coffin there with caesar
and it is full of dark. i am in the coffin
there with caesar, and i can feel my
bones rattle in their place. you can
see me in the coffin there with caesar,
somehow it was made for my dimensions.
i am not laughing, i am not coughing, i am
in the coffin. i am full of worms and rocks.
i am with caesar. hes been here the whole
time. youre invited too. the coffin is fine.
i dont mind the coffin with caesar. ive had
better roommates before, but i dont mind
caesar. he doesnt speak much. its hard
to sleep in a coffin with caesar. i am ready
to go. to leave the coffin. no one came
to caesars funeral. god its getting cold.
i forgot to pack a blanket, and caesar didnt
bring one. no one brought him one either.
you would think the emperor of rome would
have a bigger turn out. would they know i
am in the coffin too? it is getting so cold.
oh god it is so cold. it is dark in the coffin,
but there is no caesar. where is caesar?
is that why its so quiet? is that why i fit
so perfectly? but i was in a coffin there,
with caesar. maybe i am caesar. i am
fourty four bc. i am alone. i am alone,
and it is cold, and i am in a coffin full of
worms, rocks, and dark, and no one knows
im here. i know im here, in the coffin. no
one will pause for me.
Remson DeJoseph is a Doctoral student at University of Delaware, studying Renaissance drama and literature. Apart from academia, Remson is also a performer, playwright, and poet, whose work has seen the stages of New York City and Providence. Remson's writing has been featured in places such as "Chronicle Stories" and "Channillo."